SEEING GOD

Today, while on my morning walk, I experienced a moment of truth. It struck me that we are all parts of the universal consciousness or soul, who have assumed bodies to live in this world. So, whenever I see another person, instead of looking at the body , I should immediately connect to the God inside him. This will help me to like and love all persons , irrespective of their physical characteristics. Remember all the instances when I had fallen in love. In all the instances , I had felt a deep connection at the level of the soul. The sense of unity that I had felt at that time was at the root of the intense love both of us felt for each other. We all yearn for this sense of union with each other, and yet all of us are locked into wasteful and fruitless power struggles with our fellowmen.

By extension, by taking care of our health and our bodies, we can ensure that the God inside us does not experience any discomfort or pain. The God inside us is like the Kamadhenu. If we take good care of our physical and mental health and thus of the God inside us, he will take care of us and grant us all our legitimate wishes.

Take care not just of the God inside you but also try to do the same for the God inside all your fellow human beings and living creatures around you.

Adopting this approach in life should solve many f the dilemmas I face in my day to day living.

Parables of Leadership

by W. Chan Kim and Renée A. Mauborgne

Students of management have sought for years to understand why the very same activities lead to renewal in one company and to more-of-the-same performance in another. Almost always, the answer that is given is leadership, the ability to inspire confidence and support among the men and women on whose competence and commitment performance depends. Yet while we intuitively recognize leaders whenever we meet them, it has never been easy to answer the question: What is leadership? The essence of leadership cannot be reduced to a series of personal attributes nor confined to a set of particular roles and activities. It is like the challenge of describing a bowl: we can describe a bowl in terms of the clay from which it is made. But a true picture must include the hollow that is carved into the clay—the unseen space that defines the bowl’s shape and capacity.

We have searched for ways to capture the unseen space of leadership. The longer this search went on, the more we found ourselves talking about lessons which one of us first heard as a youth in the temples of Kyung Nam province of Korea. These lessons came from Oriental masters who taught the wisdom of life through parables, and they gave us a fresh understanding of the essence of leadership. They provided us with the inspiration and insights we needed to create parables that could capture the unseen space of leadership.

The parables that follow show the essential qualities of leadership and the acts that define a leader: the ability to hear what is left unspoken, humility, commitment, the value of looking at reality from many vantage points, the ability to create an organization that draws out the unique strengths of every member. These parables provide an occasion for reflecting on the essence of leadership as well as on one’s own work and life.

The Sound of the Forest

Back in the third century A.D., the King Ts’ao sent his son, Prince T’ai, to the temple to study under the great master Pan Ku. Because Prince T’ai was to succeed his father as king, Pan Ku was to teach the boy the basics of being a good ruler. When the prince arrived at the temple, the master sent him alone to the Ming-Li Forest. After one year, the prince was to return to the temple to describe the sound of the forest.

When Prince T’ai returned, Pan Ku asked the boy to describe all that he could hear. “Master,” replied the prince, “I could hear the cuckoos sing, the leaves rustle, the hummingbirds hum, the crickets chirp, the grass blow, the bees buzz, and the wind whisper and holler.” When the prince had finished, the master told him to go back to the forest to listen to what more he could hear. The prince was puzzled by the master’s request. Had he not discerned every sound already?

For days and nights on end, the young prince sat alone in the forest listening. But he heard no sounds other than those he had already heard. Then one morning, as the prince sat silently beneath the trees, he started to discern faint sounds unlike those he had ever heard before. The more acutely he listened, the clearer the sounds became. The feeling of enlightenment enveloped the boy. “These must be the sounds the master wished me to discern,” he reflected.

When Prince T’ai returned to the temple, the master asked him what more he had heard. “Master,” responded the prince reverently, “when I listened most closely, I could hear the unheard—the sound of flowers opening, the sound of the sun warming the earth, and the sound of the grass drinking the morning dew.” The master nodded approvingly. “To hear the unheard,” remarked Pan Ku, “is a necessary discipline to be a good ruler. For only when a ruler has learned to listen closely to the people’s hearts, hearing their feelings uncommunicated, pains unexpressed, and complaints not spoken of, can he hope to inspire confidence in his people, understand when something is wrong, and meet the true needs of his citizens. The demise of states comes when leaders listen only to superficial words and do not penetrate deeply into the souls of the people to hear their true opinions, feelings, and desires.”

Fire and Water

In the fourth century B.C., hidden within the state of Lu, lay the district over which Duke Chuang governed. The district, though small, had prospered exceedingly well under Chuang’s predecessor. But since Chuang’s appointment to the post, its affairs had deteriorated markedly. Taken aback by the sad turn of events, Chuang set out to the Han mountain to seek the wisdom of the great master Mu-sun.

When the duke arrived at the mountain, he found the great master sitting peacefully on a small rock looking out at the adjoining valley. After the duke had explained his situation to Mu-sun, he waited with bated breath for the great master to speak. Contrary to Chuang’s expectation, however, the master whispered not a word. Rather, he smiled softly and gestured to the duke to follow him.

Silently they walked until before them lay the Tan Fu River, whose end could not be seen, it was so long and broad. After meditating on the river, Mu-sun set out to build a fire. When at last it was lit and the flames were aglow, the master had Chuang sit by his side. There they sat for hours on end as the fire burned brilliantly into the night.

With the coming of dawn, when the flames no longer danced, Mu-sun pointed to the river. Then, for the first time since the duke’s arrival, the great master spoke, “Now do you understand why you are unable to do as your predecessor did—to sustain the greatness of your district?”

Chuang looked perplexed; he understood now no better than before. Slowly shame enveloped the duke. “Great master,” he said, “forgive my ignorance, for the wisdom you impart I cannot comprehend.” Mu-sun then spoke for the second time. “Reflect, Chuang, on the nature of the fire as it burned before us last night. It was strong and powerful. Its flames leapt upward as they danced and cried in vainglorious pride. No strong trees nor wild beasts could have matched its mighty force. With ease it could have conquered all that lay in its path.

“In contrast, Chuang, consider the river. It starts as but a small stream in the distant mountains. Sometimes it flows slowly, sometimes quickly, but always it sails downward, taking the low ground as its course. It willingly permeates every crack in the earth and willingly embraces every crevice in the land, so humble is its nature. When we listen to the water, it can scarcely be heard. When we touch it, it can scarcely be felt, so gentle is its nature.

“Yet in the end, what is left of the once mighty fire? Only a handful of ashes. For the fire is so strong, Chuang, that it not only destroys all that lies in its path but eventually falls prey to its own strength and is consumed. It is not so with the calm and quiet river. For as it was, so it is, so it will always be: forever flowing, growing deeper, broader, ever more powerful as it journeys down to the unfathomable ocean, providing life and sustenance to all.”

After a moment of silence, Mu-sun turned to the duke. “As it is with nature, Chuang, so it is with rulers. For as it is not fire but water that envelops all and is the well of life, so it is not mighty and authoritative rulers but rulers with humbleness and deep-reaching inner strength who capture the people’s hearts and are springs of prosperity to their states. Reflect, Chuang,” continued the master, “on what type of ruler you are. Perhaps the answer that you seek will lie there.”

Like a flash of lightning, the truth seized the duke’s heart. No longer proud but embarrassed and uncertain, he looked up with his enlightened eye. Chuang was now blind to all but the sun rising over the river.

The Lesson of the Babbling Brook

The time was the fourth century B.C., the period of the Warring States in China. The grand general of the Chin State was seated in his chamber in the king’s palace with Meung, the soon-to-be-appointed general of the Third Division, at his side. A messenger, Lieutenant Yu, had just arrived with a report on the logistics of the upcoming battle between General Li’s First Division and the Second Division of the Wei State, led by General Su.

“Grand General,” said Lieutenant Yu, “I bring good news. The First Division enjoys a significant advantage—our troops outnumber the Second Division’s four to one, weaponry is in abundant supply, and the regiment remains well fed. General Li bids me assure you that victory will be ours, the Chin flag will fly forever.” As the grand general glanced at the report, a look of anguish came over his face. He clenched his fists and ordered Lieutenant Yu to dispatch reinforcements and return to the battlefield at once.

After the lieutenant had fled, the grand general walked over to the balcony and looked out to the horizon. “Alas,” he said to Meung, “yet another division of our state will fall.”

Meung was perplexed. “Grand General,” he said, “forgive my impudence, but I fail to understand your conviction. General Li’s division has many times the manpower and weaponry of General Su’s division, and yet you are convinced victory will not be ours. How can this be?”

The grand general looked somberly at Meung but did not answer. Instead, he brought Meung to a large lake behind the palace. When the grand general and Meung were seated on a rock, the general threw a small piece of paper into the water. It did not move but simply floated on one spot. After observing the still piece of paper for some time, Meung became restless and inquired again: “Grand General, what does this mean? I have meditated on the paper for more than one hour, and your lesson has not enlightened me nor provided the answer to my question.”

Once again, the general did not respond but had Meung follow him. They walked until they came to a very narrow, babbling brook. Again the grand general threw a small piece of paper onto the water. This time it did not stand still but sailed swiftly along and vanished. The grand general turned to Meung, “Now do you understand why General Su’s regiment will carry the day and not ours?”

Meung, still perplexed, asked the grand general to explain further. “Meung,” said the general, “the first regiment is like the lake, large with much weaponry. But note General Li’s position. He so arrogantly assumes victory that he does not fight. He has stationed himself behind the back line. It is not so with General Su. He is in the front line, side by side with his troops, and he has placed the rear of his regiment next to the river. His commitment to die in order to win will beget the troops’ commitment in turn. Just as the babbling brook, which rushes in one direction, carries the paper easily while the large lake cannot, so it is that a regiment small in size but unified in commitment will win. Remember, weaponry and manpower are important, but it is the general’s commitment that determines victory.”

Four days later, Lieutenant Yu and his reinforcements arrived at the site of the battle. The Wei not the Chin flag graced the sky. The First Division had been defeated.

The Wisdom of the Mountain

In ancient China, on top of Mount Ping stood a temple where the enlightened one, Hwan, dwelled. Of his many disciples, only one is known to us, Lao-li. For more than 20 years, Lao-li studied and meditated under the great master, Hwan. Although Lao-li was one of the brightest and most determined of disciples, he had yet to reach enlightenment. The wisdom of life was not his.

Lao-li struggled with his lot for days, nights, months, even years until one morning, the sight of a falling cherry blossom spoke to his heart. “I can no longer fight my destiny,” he reflected. “Like the cherry blossom, I must gracefully resign myself to my lot.” From that moment forth, Lao-Li determined to retreat down the mountain, giving up his hope of enlightenment.

Lao-li searched for Hwan to tell him of his decision. The master sat before a white wall, deep in meditation. Reverently, Lao-li approached him. “Enlightened one,” he said. But before he could continue, the master spoke, “Tomorrow I will join you on your journey down the mountain.” No more needed to be said. The great master understood.

The next morning, before their descent, the master looked out into the vastness surrounding the mountain peak. “Tell me, Lao-li,” he said, “what do you see?” “Master, I see the sun beginning to wake just below the horizon, meandering hills and mountains that go on for miles, and couched in the valley below, a lake and an old town.” The master listened to Lao-li’s response. He smiled, and then they took the first steps of their long descent.

Hour after hour, as the sun crossed the sky, they pursued their journey, stopping only once as they approached the foot of the mountain. Again Hwan asked Lao-li to tell him what he saw. “Great wise one, in the distance I see roosters as they run around barns, cows asleep in sprouting meadows, old ones basking in the late afternoon sun, and children romping by a brook.” The master, remaining silent, continued to walk until they reached the gate to the town. There the master gestured to Lao-li, and together they sat under an old tree. “What did you learn today, Lao-li?” asked the master. “Perhaps this is the last wisdom I will impart to you.” Silence was Lao-li’s response.

At last, after long silence, the master continued. “The road to enlightenment is like the journey down the mountain. It comes only to those who realize that what one sees at the top of the mountain is not what one sees at the bottom. Without this wisdom, we close our minds to all that we cannot view from our position and so limit our capacity to grow and improve. But with this wisdom, Lao-li, there comes an awakening. We recognize that alone one sees only so much—which, in truth, is not much at all. This is the wisdom that opens our minds to improvement, knocks down prejudices, and teaches us to respect what at first we cannot view. Never forget this last lesson, Lao-li: what you cannot see can be seen from a different part of the mountain.”

When the master stopped speaking, Lao-li looked out to the horizon, and as the sun set before him, it seemed to rise in his heart. Lao-li turned to the master, but the great one was gone. So the old Chinese tale ends. But it has been said that Lao-li returned to the mountain to live out his life. He became a great enlightened one.

The Wheel and the Light

Back in the third century B.C., the outbreak of fighting following the collapse of the Qin Dynasty had just ended. In its place now stood the Han Dynasty, whose emperor, Liu Bang, had consolidated China into a unified empire for the first time. To commemorate the event, Liu Bang had invited high-ranking military and political officials, poets, and teachers to a grand celebration. Among them was Chen Cen, the master to whom Liu Bang had often gone for enlightenment during his campaign to unify China.

The celebration was in full swing. A banquet grander than any ever seen was being held. At the center table sat Liu Bang with his three heads of staff: Xiao He, who administered the logistics of unification; Han Xin, who organized and led the fighting activity; and Chang Yang, who formulated the diplomatic and political strategies. At another table sat Chen Cen and his three disciples.

While food was served, speeches given, honors presented, and entertainment performed, all looked on with pride and exhilaration—all except Chen Cen’s three disciples, who sat awestruck. Only midway through the festivities did they utter their first words. “Master,” they remarked, “all is grand, all is befitting, but at the heart of the celebration lies one enigma.” Sensing his disciples’ hesitation, the master gently encouraged them to continue.

“At the central table sits Xiao He,” they proceeded. “Xiao He’s knowledge of logistics cannot be refuted. Under his administration, the soldiers have always been well fed and properly armed, whatever the terrain. Next to him is Han Xin. Han Xin’s military tactics are beyond reproach. He understands exactly where to ambush the enemy, when to advance, and when to retreat. He has won every battle he has led. Last is Chang Yang. Chang Yang sees the dynamics of political and diplomatic relations in his palm. He knows which states to form alliances with, how to gain political favors, and how to corner heads of states into surrendering without battle. This we understand well. What we cannot comprehend is the centerpiece of the table, the emperor himself. Liu Bang cannot claim noble birth, and his knowledge of logistics, fighting, and diplomacy does not equal that of his heads of staff. How is it, then, that he is emperor?”

The master smiled and asked his disciples to imagine the wheel of a chariot. “What determines the strength of a wheel in carrying a chariot forward?” he asked. After a moment of reflection, his disciples responded, “Is it not the sturdiness of the spokes, Master?” “But then, why is it,” he rejoined, “that two wheels made of identical spokes differ in strength?” After a moment, the master continued, “See beyond what is seen. Never forget that a wheel is made not only of spokes but also of the space between the spokes. Sturdy spokes poorly placed make a weak wheel. Whether their full potential is realized depends on the harmony between them. The essence of wheelmaking lies in the craftsman’s ability to conceive and create the space that holds and balances the spokes within the wheel. Think now, who is the craftsman here?”

A glimmer of moonlight was visible behind the door. Silence reigned until one disciple said, “But master, how does a craftsman secure the harmony between the spokes?” “Think of sunlight,” replied the master. “The sun nurtures and vitalizes the trees and flowers. It does so by giving away its light. But in the end, in which direction do they all grow? So it is with a master craftsman like Liu Bang. After placing individuals in positions that fully realize their potential, he secures harmony among them by giving them all credit for their distinctive achievements. And in the end, as the trees and flowers grow toward the giver, the sun, individuals grow toward Liu Bang with devotion.”

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Lose your ego and bow down!

Gautam Buddha was once travelling from Shravasti to Varanasi. When he got tired, he rested under a tree, on an ancient podium. A poor farmer saw Buddha and came to pay his respects, but before bowing down before him, he prostrated himself in front of the podium. Buddha asked him why. He replied: "I'm uneducated but it is our village tradition to bow to this podium. I feel a certain reverence towards this podium and I feel very happy when I follow the tradition."

Buddha blessed him and told him to continue the tradition. Buddha's other disciples asked him: "We don't understand this. You don't teach any prayer. You don't support tradition. Why didn't you advise the poor farmer to be free from this blind faith? Just the other day, you scolded a Brahmin Agnidatta for doing the same thing!"

Buddha replied: "This farmer bows in innocence. Agnidatta is educated and egoistic. His prayer has no heart. It is important to learn the art of bowing down and being humble. Then, it does not matter where you bow-to this podium or to any temple. Agnidatta is a scholar, and he is proud of his scholarliness. He has a mindset but no humbleness. I had to shake him and wake him up. I don't give the same advice to two people, as every individual is unique."

After explaining this to his monks, Buddha asked them to meditate near the podium. All of them experienced divine light radiating from the podium. Wonderstruck, they asked their master about the mystery of the podium. Buddha replied: "This podium is 'alive'. It's the samadhi of Kashyap, a past Buddha. In my last life, I met him. I was simply a seeker then. Kashyap told me: 'You will be enlightened in your next life. I see it.'" Buddha went on: "Kashyap made me aware of my potential and I have attained it. There have been thousands of Buddhas in the past; there will be thousands in the future. What is important is to learn how to bow down. It rids you of your ego. It makes you divine."

The modern world is becoming intellectual and rapidly losing touch with innocence. Everybody knows a lot but feels very little. The head becomes heavy and suppresses the heart's softness. The head creates a false centre in us and we lose our individuality. Ego is false life.

Osho explains: "The ego is not an individual. Ego is a social phenomenon. It gives you a social hierarchy. If you stay satisfied with it, you miss the opportunity to find yourself. That's why you are miserable. With a false life, how can you be ecstatic? Ego creates miseries, millions of them." You cannot see it, because it is your own darkness. You are attuned to it. All miseries enter through the ego. It cannot make you blissful, only miserable. Ego is hell.

Whenever you suffer, watch and analyse. You will find that ego is the cause. And the ego goes on finding causes to suffer. You are an egoist. Everyone is. Some people are grossly egoistic, just on the surface, so they are not so difficult. Some are subtly egoistic, deep down-they are the real problems. This ego clashes continuously with others because every ego is under confident about itself. It has to be, for it is a false thing. A man who attains his true self will never clash with anyone.

Osho illustrates this with a Zen story: "A Zen master was walking. A man came and hit him. The master fell down, got up and started walking, just like earlier. He didn't look back once. His disciple was shocked. He said, 'If one lives in such a way, then anybody can come and kill you. And you have not even looked at that person... Why did he do it?' The master said, 'That is his problem, not mine.'"

You can clash with an enlightened man, but that is your problem, not his. If you are hurt in that clash, that too is your own problem. It is like knocking against a wall!

Kurukshetra counsel

28 Sep, 2007, 0510 hrs IST,Devdutt Pattanaik, TNN

Of the 18 days of the Kurukshetra battle described in the Mahabharta, nine days were indecisive. The Kauravas , with 11 armies, outnumbered the seven armies of the Pandavas. For the Pandavas, it was critical that Bhisma, the old but very able commander of the Kaurava forces, be killed. So Krishna decided to make Shikhandi ride on his chariot alongside Arjun. Shikhandi was born with the body of a woman which later transformed into the body of a man. Bhisma believed that a creature such as this was a woman and so refused to raise his bow against her. The Kauravas protested her entry into the battlefield but the Pandavas saw Shikhandi as a man. Arjun had no qualms about using him/her a human shield, raising his bow at the invincible Bhisma and pinning him to the ground with hundreds of arrows. Bhisma can be seen as a man who is paralysed by his own interpretation of a situation . But any situation can be seen in many different ways. Through alternate interpretation , it is possible to challenge anyone. Defeat is inevitable if one is unable to accommodate an alternate point of view. Had Bhisma accepted that Shikhandi was a man there was no way he could have been defeated. Drona, the commander of the Kaurava army after Bhisma, was a ruthless killer, who broke Pandava morale by killing Arjun's son Abhimanyu and even making his soldiers fight at night, against the rule of war. To defeat him, Krishna spread the rumour that Ashwatthama was dead. Ashwatthama happened to be the name of Drona's son and Drona was extremely attached to him. Ashwattama was the reason for Drona's life. On hearing this rumour, his heart sank. Was his son dead? Yes, said all the Pandava warriors surrounding him. Yes, said Krishna. Drona turned to Yudhishtira, the most upright Pandava. Yudhishtira knew that the Ashwatthama being referred to was an elephant. Still he told Drona - either a man or an elephant, Ashwatthama is surely dead. In the din of the battle, looking at the petrified face of Yudhistira, Drona was convinced that his son was dead and that Yudhishtira gave him the strange answer to break the terrible news gently. He lowered his weapons. Taking advantage of his this, the leader of the Pandava army raised his sword and beheaded Drona. Drona can be seen as a man who is extremely attached to something personal . To break such a man down, that which he is attached to must be destroyed. Or at least he must be given the impression that it is destroyed. His obsession will cloud his judgement; he will not bother to delve deeper and check the facts. Many leaders have strong likes and dislikes and this can be used by corporate spin-doctors and gossip mongers to destroy relationships. Leaders have to be wary of this. They must check facts especially if the news relates to those who matter most to them. Otherwise, like Drona, they will end up beheaded. Shalya who became commander of the Kaurava army on the last day, had, according to the Indonesian Mahabharata , a demon that came out of his ears every time he was attacked. This demon became stronger if the attack against Shalya became more intense. To defeat Shalya, Krishna suggested that Yudhishtira fight him, not with rage but with love. So Yudhishtira walked towards Shalya with great affection. The demon in Shlaya became so weak that it could not even come out of Shalya's ears. When Yudhishtira came close to Shalya, with no malice in his heart, Yudhishtira raised his spear and impaled the last leader of the Kauravas. A powerful lesson here. There are people who become strong in confrontations . Such people must never be confronted. Their point must not be validated through arguments. The best way to invalidate them is to simply agree with them. This unnerves them. They come prepared to face all arguments and, in the absence of any, feel disempowered . Confused, they become vulnerable. Vantage Point PeoplE around him, seeing there is no one arguing their point will doubt their viewpoint and start to withdraw . Thus through agreement can a point of view be destroyed. Barbareek is a little known character whose tale is told in many folk Mahabharatas. He was the son of Bhima by a snake princess and was stronger than all five Pandavas put together. Not wanting him to join the Kauravas, Krishna asked him for a boon. Barbareek was too nice a man to say no. So Krishna said, “Give me your head.” Barbareek immediately severed his neck and offered his head to Krishna with one request that he be allowed to see this great battle from a vantage point. Krishna therefore placed his head on a hill that overlooked Kursukshetra . At the end of the war, the Pandavas asked him who was the greatest warrior in the battlefield. Barbareek replied, “I saw no great warrior on the battlefield. All I saw was Krishna’s discus whirring around cutting the heads of warriors and their blood washing the hair of Draupadi, who had long ago been publicly disrobed by the very same warriors.” It is a good idea, in the middle of corporate political wrangling, to step back and see who is provoking the fight and stoking the flames. Often the two parties involved fail to realise that out there is another man — a Krishna maybe — making them fight for his very own agenda. So ask yourself: are you fighting your own battle in Kurukshetra or are you a pawn in someone else’s much bigger game?

Make Vishnu's four symbols your management tools

Make Vishnu's four symbols your management tools

Hindu Gods are distinguished from each other by the symbols they carry. Shiva , the ascetic, for example, is identified by his trident and rattle drum. Brahma, the priest-teacher , is identified by his books, rosary and pot. Vishnu, the leader-king , is identified with four symbols: conch-shell trumpet or shankh, discus whirring around his index finger or chakra, a mace or gada and a lotus or padma. Come to think of it a good leader also has only four tools to get his work done. His very own shankh, chakra, gada and padma . Only, one does not identify his tools using mythological vocabulary. Vishnu’s shankh or conchshell trumpet is blown to announce his presence on a battlefield . In Vedic times, this instrument was used by the commander to rally their troops. Warriors also used this to demonstrate their stamina before their enemies for blowing a conch-shell trumpet was a measure of lung-power and mind control. Every warrior in the Mahabharat from Krishna to Arjun had his very own conch-shell . The conch-shell can be viewed as an instrument of communication. The first rule of leadership is to be an effective communicator. Your team must know who you are, what your capabilities are, what your vision is and what you expect them to do, and why, and how this will help in achieving your final objective. Your competition also needs to know that you are powerful and they must avoid confrontation . Unless you communicate , nobody is aware of your presence. ‘Blowing your own trumpet’ and getting your thoughts across is necessary if anything needs to get done. Vishnu’s chakra, which whirs round his index finger, is both a weapon as well as a symbol of life that Vishnu sustains . As a weapon, it strikes a target, trims the unwanted and undesirable elements like an electric saw and returns to Vishnu’s finger like a boomerang. As a symbol of life, it indicates time (what goes around comes around in this life or the next) and space (the circular horizon of our worldview). The chakra can be viewed as a symbol of review. A good leader’s job does not end with communicating what he desires and what he expects from his team. He reviews their progress regularly by organising daily meetings, weekly meetings, monthly meetings. In these meetings, he checks what has been done and what has not been done. He ensures that the team has not drifted from the goal. He discovers what has worked and what has not. He identifies new creative thoughts and anticipates possible hurdles. This he does again and again and again. Repetition is the key word. With each review, things get trimmed and the vision gets sharper and clearer so that a new horizon of possibilities emerge. To keep your team on track, the traditional method is to use the system of reward and punishment discretly. Vishnu’s carrot and stick approach of leadership is represented through his mace or gada and his lotus or padma. The mace is like a teacher’s ruler, to punish those who do not do what they are supposed to do. The lotus rich with nectar and pollen, that attracts bees and butterfly, is for those who do what they are supposed to do and more. The one he uses to strike down the rule/law/system breakers. The other he uses to reward the rule/law/system followers . Thus he keeps his team on the straight and narrow, ensuring they achieve what they set out to achieve together. The one ensures that errors are not repeated. The other ensures that best practices are always followed. In some organisations, the four tools generate fear and anxiety. When this happens, both the goal and the tools have to be relooked at. Is the goal driven by reality or falsehood ? Is it motivated by greed? Is the conch-shell trumpeting or the rotation of the wheel excessive? Is the mace too harsh or the lotus too stingy? In some organizations , the tools serve no purpose . People continue to do what they are supposed to do, moving in different directions, with no alignment to each other. When this happens, the communication has to be relooked at. Has the message gone through correctly or is the message changing repeatedly confusing all or is there a message at all? The message of ten contains only the goal - what must be achieved. The conch-shell , however, must also communicate how it must be achieved. The aim of the review is to focus on the how - if the prescribed methods are working or failing, the reasons for the success and failure. Often review meetings are not used for review what has been planned - they are used to generate new ideas and discard old ones. New whats and new hows to replace old whats and old hows. Review meetings can generate new insights but it must never be at the cost of the planned agenda. New ideas must be parked, reviewed later and then communicated accordingly. Otherwise , the review loses its purpose and the conch-shell only produces cacophony, with things going in every direction. If all is well, if the what and how are clear, and if short term results show that they are achievable, then the only way to reach the ultimate goal is to make things happen is by using reward and punishment to drive the team. Reward need not be monetary; it can be a kind word, recognition, acknowledgment. Punishment need not be a public humiliation or a cut in incentive; it can be a simple awareness of failure. Good leaders typically reward the team in times of success but punish themselves in times of failure. By taking the ownership of failure, they generate a more powerful relationship with the organisation. Mahabharat tells the story of Kuru who used his own flesh as seed and his blood as water when drought struck his kingdom. This suffering for the sake of his people earned him the admiration of the gods who declared that those who die in Kuru’s field and live as Kuru did would go to heaven. Proof of optimal tool usage comes when Vishnu, the leader, creates Vaikuntha, an organisation which is stable and harmonious , where every individual thrives, where the team works in alignment, and where organisational goals are achieved to the satisfaction of all stakeholders.

SET: Go with the flow

Holding on has a way of dampening the spirit and moving you away from being in harmony with yourself, says Sandy Thibault A friend of mine has always said that there is nothing in life more constant than change. The more I learn the more I have to agree with my friend that, indeed, life is always in a constant state of flux. If there is this movement all around us, we have the opportunity to change in response to it. But the truth is that sometimes we are resistant to doing things in a new way and it is hard to let go of ideas, relationships, and the way things have always been done. It is even harder to let go of fear, anger, hurts and the resentments we carry. When I think of letting go, I can't help but think that if I have something to let go of, then I must be hanging on to something. The question itself seems to ask us to name it, the very thing we are holding on to. Sometimes we know exactly what it is as we have a long standing relationship with it. We might have even carried it from our childhood to adulthood. Whatever it is that we carry with us, we have the tendency to keep building on it, giving it more and more power until it becomes almost too big to look at. Certainly this is not a conscious act on our part, but one that happens outside of our awareness until we are faced with something that makes us look at it. People often talk about dealing with the issues of their life when faced with an illness. Eastern medicine looks at the emotional life of the person when assessing their medical condition, knowing that when we hold on to emotions, it shows itself in the physical body. Many believe that disease is really dis-ease with the emotional aspect of ourselves and literally being out of harmony with our emotions. Whether this is your belief or not, holding on has a way of dampening the spirit and moving you away from being in harmony with yourself. I know for myself, I came to adulthood with a lot of ideas about who and what I was based on what I had been told. I had been taught how things had to be and the rules I needed to abide by to succeed in the world; only to find out later that these ideas, beliefs and all the emotions around them did not fit me. I was surprised to find that what I came to believe about myself and life had driven my life in a way that kept me from getting what I wanted. It was with this awareness that I had the capacity to change it, if I let it go. In the process of letting go I could make room for something new to come in. You don't have to have something from your childhood to get familiar with letting go. The process of life itself gives us a steady stream of opportunity. In particular, I remember what it was like when my children got on the school bus for the very first time. All the parents were at the bus stop, many with fear and apprehension, unsure about this first big step in letting go. Now my youngest son has graduated from high school and will attend college in a far away state. Again I stand in this place of letting go. At first it does not feel all that different from that day thirteen years ago when he boarded the school bus, but I know that I have learned a lot about letting go. I also know that life will continually remind me in case I forget that it is a necessary part of life. It is vital to us to learn how to let go so that our burden does not become too heavy to bear. The more I have looked at my life, the more I realised that change is ever present and life is a constant process of change, making peace and letting go. I understand that this is not always an easy process but I have learned that it is even harder to hang on to it. When we let go, we energetically make room for something new to come into our awareness. Letting go of what no longer works is a wonderful freedom that allows us to imagine something else. And every time we can imagine something else we have a universe of possibility that opens to us. It makes me wonder who we could be if we were willing to let go of the things we are carrying. How would we participate in the bigger picture for our life? What if we could start each day with a clean slate? The native Hawaiian people practise something called Ho'oponopono, which means to 'make right.' Each evening they close their eyes and practice the gentle art of letting go of everything from the day. How might you find your own centre of peace if each evening you could let go of the day? Understanding that as you do this, you are making room for new possibilities to emerge. Blessings to you as you learn that letting go is a process for life.

What is it that keeps India ticking ?

For long, we just had our 5000-year-old culture, our heritage, our awe-inspiring traditions and our breathtaking landscapes to offer. Didn't mean much to an average American, or British, did it? But today, it's no longer difficult for us to explain the goodness in our country. From music to fashion, from cinema to art - the vibrant energy is there for all to feel. Today we have an A R Rahman rubbing shoulders with Andrew Lloyd Webber, Himesh Reshammiya performing to a one lakh-plus crowd at Wembley, actor Irrfan Khan smearing greasepaint alongside Angelina Jolie. We can boast of a Prasoon Joshi bringing home two Lions from Cannes, Aditya Chopra and Karan Johar taking to Western shores our jingoism-laden technicolour cinema. A Sania Mirza stirs as much controversy with her skirts as a Paris Hilton with her wild escapades. A designer label by Rajesh Pratap called 'Pratap' has a nervous Prada scurrying to his doors to alter the similar-sounding label. Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai rock wherever they go, including Madame Tussauds. In short, it's no longer bindi and multani mitti packs that foreigners are buying from us. Young India is selling dreams - not only to zillions of its brethren but also to the West. When newspaper reports scream of a woman scrap dealer becoming a millionaire or a rickshaw puller's son topping the civil services, we know that India has arrived. These are stuff dreams are made of. If anybody were willing to wager a snap poll, pride and confidence in the nation would rank high with the average Indian. We may be a country, which is still a mess of antiquated procedures, with a slothful public sector and bureaucracy, but it doesn't deflate our egos or make us bury our heads ostrich-style. No, we are not trying to shrug off our Indian-ness in our rush to embrace global standards. "We are becoming modern but not Westernised. In fact, Indians are becoming more conscious of their identity as there's a new confidence to accept Indian-ness. Take our music, film, art, fashion - they are essentially Indian, showcasing India with a pride never seen before," says ad filmmaker and lyricist Prasoon Joshi. If we were to talk about our comfort level with our Indian-ness, what better than Hinglish- our own concoction of the Queen's dialect? Are we afraid of ending each oh-so-propah English sentence with a yaar? Nah! "Identities should be a healthy mix of both Indian values and Western culture. Today, there's a greater sense of confidence and optimism about India internationally than it was, say, a decade ago. The country's values are far more cherished today," says young parliamentarian Milind Deora. "Adding values is not bad as long as we don't lose our identity. But we also need not latch on to our values unnecessarily just because we are treading the path of a global superpower. The respect should come from within," explains Milind. Does the feeling come from deep within? "Being an Indian gives me strength. It makes me feel rooted," says Prasoon. The sense of pride that polo champion Angad Kalaan felt when the Indian national anthem played in the World Cup is inexplicable. "It was a proud moment. In fact, I love to flaunt my Indian roots when I compete abroad," he beams. If love's in their heart, it's in their craft too. "I've tried to weave in 100 per cent Indian-ness in my couture. To go global we need to address our roots," says designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee, whose designs have graced the New York and London Fashion Week. "Everybody wants to make a mark. To regret being part of the heritage means losing out in a crowd. It makes us wannabes," he emphasises. "The whole world is looking at India. Those who shrug off their Indian roots lack self-confidence and belief," says Prasoon. Why shy? India's never looked this charismatic and energetic before. And our new slogan is 'chakk de India'.